


Retrace, Retry

by hidden_pastry



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Back Together, It's M not E so nothing super explicit, Light Smut, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Break Up, Reunions, Songfic, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25279480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidden_pastry/pseuds/hidden_pastry
Summary: In 2012, Dan left Manchester and Phil didn’t follow. Dan didn’t let him.Now, it’s 2016 and Dan returns to retrace his steps and maybe, possibly, have a chance at a second try.Heavily inspired by the songRetrace by Anberlin.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 65





	Retrace, Retry

**Author's Note:**

> For the best ~vibes~ listen to the song while you’re reading! It’s great I promise

Dan stands where it all began, just a few steps off the train at the Manchester station. 

He tries to take it all in and struggles. The train ride up was a nightmare; nervous twitching, constant fidgeting, the inability to concentrate on literally anything he tried to distract himself with. Dan’s pretty sure the woman next to him thought he was a few cards short of a full deck. Come to think of it, maybe she’s right. The closer he gets to his destination, the more out of it he feels. 

So he closes his eyes and tries to breathe. The rain pitter-patters lightly on the roof of the large building, just barely audible above the noise of the foot traffic. Commuters, mostly, traveling around the city to and from work, school, home. Dan feels exceedingly out of place. Can everyone around him see it? The anxiety, ready to burst out of his chest and consume him whole? 

Dan opens his eyes, and no one is looking his way. He’s actually pleasantly surprised; he’s not huge, sure, but he has enough fans that he usually runs into a few every day, and the station is packed. If there’s one thing he doesn’t want his fans to see, it’s probably this, though he’s already somewhat come to terms with the fact that a trip to Manchester will make the fandom go wild. 

And the thing is, they’re not wrong. He really can’t blame them. He always did wear his heart on his sleeve, or in his case, in his eyes. He’s seen the gifs, the video compilations. They were never open about what they had, but it was far too obvious to miss. 

Dan shakes his head, realizing he’s got places to be but is still standing there, frozen in memory. He exits the station and heads into the rain. It’s summer, but the drizzle keeps the air cool, the sun never quite managing to peek out from behind the grey clouds. He puts his hood up, but it’s pointless. His hair has already begun to curl. 

Dan sighs. He spent _a lot_ of time straightening it this morning. He’s thinking about just not bothering anymore. It’s kind of his branding, sure, but his branding can change. 

A squeak from behind, and there’s the first fan of the day. She’s giddy with excitement and says her name, which slips straight over Dan’s head and into the street. They move underneath an awning to get a picture, and Dan smiles, hoping it reaches his eyes. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t. As he reaches up to take the picture with her phone, he can feel his hands shaking. 

As she leaves, she smiles and maybe Dan reads into it too much, but it seems like she knows, or at least suspects. Maybe she’s a fan from way back when. Maybe she will log into her twitter or tumblr and spread the news: Dan’s in Manchester! Who else would he be here to see?

Dan could go on twitter. He could tweet something like _”nostalgia trip, time to see all my old friends! oh wait i have no friends”_ or _”of course it’s raining the one time i decide to visit”_ , something witty and self-deprecating like he usually does. He could try and take control of the narrative, if he wanted. 

But that would defeat the whole point of coming here. Dan doesn’t _want_ to control the narrative anymore. 

He checks the time on his phone; he’s pretty early. Though the rain still drizzles down, he decides to walk to his destination. If he arrives too early, he will just sit there and fidget anxiously like he did on the train. 

He doesn’t even need to look up a map to the place. Sure, Dan hasn’t lived in Manchester in four years, but he still remembers the streets. How could he forget? They are burned into his mind, ever accompanying the other memories. The bittersweet ones. The painful ones. But mostly the good ones. 

It works the other way, too, Dan learns. He strolls down the street, desperately trying to act nonchalant in an attempt to convince himself he isn’t about to have a panic attack, but the city has so many memories and all at once, they come flooding in. They invade his mind: buying gifts at shops he passes, going on dates at local restaurants, just enjoying time together wherever they went. He stops and leans against the brick next to him, breathing deeply, in and out, in and out. Strategies his therapist taught him, along with some he learned himself over the years. 

In and out. 

In and out. 

Ten… 

Nine… 

Eight… 

Seven…

Dan swallows uncomfortably. There’s a lump in his throat and his mouth is dry, but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s about to pass out. He pulls a bottle of water from the side pocket of his backpack; another thing his therapist taught him. No matter how bad you feel, you shouldn’t forget to stay hydrated. He still feels like a jittery mess, but his mouth isn’t dry anymore. It helps more than it has any right to, really. 

Four years ago, this kind of feeling would have melted him to the ground, left him a bumbling mess, in bed for days, probably. It would have crept into his psyche and ground him to dust. But he’s got it under control now, mostly, he thinks. He’s made space to tackle the more difficult things. The more important things. 

Dan sees it across the street: a group of four or five people, recognising him despite the distance and his raised hood. 

Somewhat surprisingly, though, they don’t cross the street. Instead, they wave at him excitedly, but ultimately move on. Dan hopes it’s because they want out of the rain and not because they saw him having a minor meltdown. God knows the kinds of rumors that would spread: Dan not only in Manchester, but in Manchester and panicking! 

Okay, so maybe Dan has to fight the urge to pull out his phone and tweet out some kind of excuse. Maybe old habits just die hard. There’s always going to be a part of him that wants to control everything, but now, at least, Dan knows that’s not possible. And now, Dan has realised that the lack of control maybe isn’t something to be scared of. 

Before, he let that fear take over his life. Dan loves his job, obviously, but the attention was a lot to bear. So many people poking and prodding into his life, trying to uncover things he wasn’t ready to share. He tried to tell them to leave him alone, but he could never form the words. So, in the end, he fled. 

He has so, so many regrets, but he hopes that today he can amend at least one of them. 

Dan continues the walk. He’s not far now, he knows, which somehow makes him feel a little better and a little worse at the same time. He feels like he’s about to give a presentation he never prepared for. If he can be convincing enough, maybe he’ll get a good grade. If not, there will be no second chances. 

Except this isn’t a class presentation, it’s much more important than that, and he’s not the only one to consider. Thinking about it, a presentation is a terrible metaphor, Dan realises. There will be no teacher. Only two independent, sovereign men. No matter what he says, maybe the other man will never let him pass. Dan’s not sure if he deserves it to begin with. 

He rounds a corner and sees that green sign pop up in the near distance. Dan stops off to one side and checks his phone again; ten minutes early. He looks around, scanning the area for any familiar faces, but sees none. The large windows of the Starbucks are obscured by a peppering of raindrops. Not that it matters; Dan’s coming from the wrong direction. He can’t see their meeting spot from this position anyway. 

The other man is probably already there. He always was one to be early. 

That’s if he even decides to show up at all. What if he doesn’t? Dan wouldn’t blame him. It would be pretty out of character, but then again, a lot can change about a person in four years. 

Dan’s heart is pounding so loud he can hear it in his ears. His head begins to spin again and his breaths become shallow. _Not now, not now. I’m so close._

In and out. 

In and out. 

Ten… 

Nine… 

Eight… 

Seven… 

Six… 

Five… 

Dan takes another drink of water, replaces the bottle, then pulls out his wallet. Sheltering it from the rain, he opens it up and pulls something out of a small pocket inside. A photograph, neatly trimmed out of a photo booth set. 

Two faces in a photo booth smile up at him widely. The faded picture has resided in his wallet since 2010, and a part of him still cringes inside to see his younger self’s fashion choices, but mostly… mostly he feels warmth, starting in his stomach and crawling its way outwards. Dan shivers, but it’s a good kind of shiver, a reinvigoration of sorts. 

He shoves his wallet back into his pocket and walks the rest of the short distance to the coffee shop. 

Blue eyes meet his as soon as he enters. Dan couldn’t miss him in a crowd of a hundred, no, a thousand people. Tears of relief prick up in Dan’s eyes, but he chokes them down and smiles. 

“Phil,” he breathes. 

It feels like home. There’s no other way for Dan to describe it really, the feeling of being around Phil again. The conversation is light and meaningless, the caramel macchiatos are delicious and despite the years apart, the tension that Dan expected isn’t there. Dan should have known, really. It was always like this with Phil: effortless. There was none of the divide that seemed to separate Dan and everyone else. 

Dan thinks Phil can feel it too, or maybe he just hopes he does. Phil says something but stumbles on his words; Dan understands it anyway and laughs, poking light fun, and Phil grins back with his tongue between his teeth. They jab back and forth, reminiscing on old memories that by now have far enough distance to feel less embarrassing. They sit there, across from each other, far past when they have finished their coffees, far past when they should have left. Dan arrived in Manchester in the early afternoon, but before he knows it, the sun is hanging lower and lower in the sky, dipping in and out of the clouds to occasionally glare into his eyes. The rain has stopped for now, though thunder rumbles in the distance. 

The conversation falters. For a moment it feels normal. With Phil, there’s never that pressure to keep talking, to fill the silence. Yet, after a few seconds it manifests: a kind of weight, tugging on something inside of Dan. Phil’s looking at him, still smiling, but then he breaks eye contact and looks away, suddenly awkward. The silence reminds Dan that he can’t keep pretending this is old times, that he’s here for a reason, not just for idle chatter.

Dan’s heart begins to flutter again. This is it, isn’t it? This is the part of the conversation he’s been waiting for, the part where he admits he was wrong. The part where he hands Phil the reins, finally giving up this illusion of control, and hopes that maybe, possibly, somehow, Phil might feel the same kind of longing that’s been eating Dan up inside. 

Dan opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. His heart races and his breathing becomes shallow. No, this is no time to panic, he can’t—

In… 

and out. 

In… 

and out. 

“Thanks for coming to see me, Dan,” Phil says, smiling, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Is he… disappointed? Dan remembers being able to read Phil, knowing every expression, every tic, every nervous habit. Even throughout the years apart, when they’d only see each other sparsely at YouTube conferences or friends’ birthdays, Dan always knew what Phil was thinking from the way the lines on his face moved. Right now, though, Phil is unreadable. 

Dan just nods, hoping he looks appreciative to reciprocate the sentiment. He can’t speak. He needs to calm his breathing before he hyperventilates. 

Ten… 

Nine… 

Eight… 

“It was really nice to see you again. You can visit me any time. You know that, right?” Dan pins it down, the look in Phil’s eyes: sadness, disappointment, regret, all rolled up into one. His heart beats faster. 

Seven… 

Six… 

Five… 

“Phil, I…” Dan manages to get out, but nothing follows. 

Phil’s eyebrows knit together in concern; he has apparently noticed the imminent panic. He moves to kneel next to Dan’s chair, resting one hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

Phil smells the same as he used to, and it punches Dan in the face now that he’s close. His hand is delicate, tentative on Dan’s shoulder, and despite the hesitance, it grounds him. Phil is concerned, but he also knows Dan, so he’s not pushing. He’s just there if Dan needs him. Thunder rumbles again, closer this time, and Dan closes his eyes as the downpour overtakes the building.

Four… 

Three… 

Two…

“I was wrong,” Dan chokes out, almost drowned out by the now thundering rain. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m so sorry.” 

Dan opens his eyes to find Phil, still looking concerned, but with a shy smile beginning to form. A burst of hope wells up in his chest. 

“What are you saying?” Phil asks, voice almost a whisper. 

Dan takes a deep, full breath, the first one in minutes that actually fills up his lungs. He’s practiced this part in the mirror about a million times, but meeting Phil’s gaze, all coherent thoughts fall away. “I’m saying,” he begins, grasping for those falling threads of cognition, “that it’s been four years, and I still regret leaving every single day. It was the worst mistake of my life.”

Phil’s eyes begin to water, making his eyes shine, but he’s smiling widely. He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t a mistake. It was— you. You did what you needed to do, for yourself. I’m not mad, I was never mad. Don’t ever think I was mad.” His hand now squeezes Dan’s shoulder tightly. 

“I hurt you.”

“Yeah, you did.” Phil wipes the tears off his cheeks. “But you explained it. You didn’t just leave. You wanted to go, and I couldn’t keep you here. Not if you didn’t want to be. Even if I always—” Phil cuts himself off, sniffing. “I wanted you to come back. But I mostly wanted you to be happy. _Want_ you to be happy. Whether that’s with me, with someone else, or by yourself. That’s up to you.” 

“So… you still mean what you said, the day I left?” Dan gasps out. Coming here seemed like such a long shot. Four years is a long time, and he was almost certain Phil wouldn’t even contemplate it, but… Dan still remembers the words, clear as day, the very last thing Phil said to him, standing at the train station on a rainy summer afternoon just like this one.

_If you ever want to come back, I’ll be here._

Phil nods. 

“Really? It’s been so long I didn’t think—”

“Yes, Dan. I still mean it.” Phil’s other hand slides over Dan’s own on the armrest. 

A sob escapes Dan’s chest. “So you haven’t—,” a sniffle, “you haven’t moved on, you haven’t found someone else?” 

Phil chuckles and squeezes Dan’s hand. “I tried. I could never find anyone else, though. No one like you.” 

They disembark quickly after that, not keen to make any more of a scene in a public place. The rain cascades down, so they make a run for it, hand in hand, Dan directing them towards his hotel nearby. Phil doesn’t complain. They have a lot of lost time to make up for, and Phil has roommates. 

They’re soaked through by the time they reach the hotel. The kindly staff wave them inside, fetching them towels to dry up as Dan checks in. Any other day, his first priority would be to make sure his laptop was okay inside his backpack, but Phil is next to him, hopping anxiously from one foot to the other as the man at the counter slowly retrieves Dan’s information, so there are other things on his mind. 

Their first reunited kiss happens the moment the door closes behind them, Phil taking Dan’s jaw in his hand and pressing their lips together, long and slow. Dan basks in the feeling, reveling in the taste of the man he thought he might never have again. He pulls Phil’s bottom lip into his mouth and bites lightly the way he knows Phil likes. It’s intoxicating. 

They’re both still sopping wet. Dan fingers at the hem of Phil’s shirt before pulling it off between kisses, and Phil does the same for him. Their skin is clammy and moist, but it’s enough for Dan to be able to feel it at all. A fire was lit inside the moment Phil said yes, and a little rain can't extinguish it. Not even close. 

Their jeans are a struggle—the notorious difficulty of wet skinny jeans—but they manage and fall together onto the soft bed, finally unshackled from all clothing. The relief is palpable. Dan’s long past wanting and fully into needing, and Phil is reciprocating every move Dan makes, making quiet but obscene sounds with every motion. Dan knows exactly what Phil likes, and Phil knows what Dan likes, and it’s so good and so _right_ that Dan feels like he could cry, or laugh, or both. He settles for kissing Phil again, and Phil kisses him right back, before pulling back and moving his lips to Dan’s neck. Dan groans.

Phil is ravenous, and Dan knows he will have plenty of marks on his neck, but that’s something to think about tomorrow. Because right now, he’s completely lost in the euphoria of having Phil in front of him, grinding up against him, kissing him. He can feel the blood pumping through every part of his body. After not long at all he’s close, too close, and he tells Phil, who whispers a quiet _come for me_. He says it reverently, like a prayer, a plea to a higher being, which is ridiculous because there’s only one God in this room and it is Phil. In this moment Dan is but a slave unto his Lord and so he obeys, letting himself get pushed over the edge. Only one thought rolls around his mind, slipping out of his mouth as he comes: _I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

It’s not long before Phil comes with a quiet moan, and he collapses next to Dan on the bed. Dan traces over Phil with one hand, trying to refresh his mental image of the man, finding only a few new scars he’ll have to ask about later. For several minutes there are no words, just heavy breathing and soft touches. 

Then, Phil speaks, soft and low: “I love you too. I never stopped loving you.” And Dan kisses him again, and again, and again. 

Sunshine streams through the blinds, hitting Dan right in the face. He probably should have thought about closing them before he went to sleep, but there had been more important things to attend to last night. Dan squints, peering out the window. The sky is blue with not a cloud in sight. Water still drips past the window, left over from the downpour the previous night. 

Phil is snoring quietly, rolled onto his side, one leg slotted underneath Dan’s. Dan props himself up a little, trying not to disturb the sleeping man, just wanting a moment to admire the love of his life before he wakes. 

Phil’s drooling on the pillow. Dan smirks. 

Phil stirs, stretching and mumbling something unintelligible. 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Dan kisses on Phil’s cheek—the not-drooly one. 

Phil smiles, wiping his face and leaning his head up in petition for another kiss. Dan obliges, of course, and Phil shuffles closer, as close as he can, until he’s practically underneath Dan with his face smushed into the pillow. 

“I missed this. I missed you,” Phil says, voice muffled. 

Dan smiles widely and moves in to wrap an arm around Phil. They shift together, one person with two separate but intertwined pieces. Dan rests his head against the nape of Phil’s neck and places a soft kiss there. Here in this hotel room with Phil, for the first time in years, he realises he’s well and truly, finally, home. “I missed you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can reblog on tumblr [here](https://hiddenpastry.tumblr.com/post/624059190472802304/retrace-retry-rating-m-cws-light-smut-panic). There's a moodboard there too! Or on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/Val_is_hiding/status/1284775564486811648). 
> 
> Special thanks to Alexia (@corvinephan on tumblr) for beta reading this, and also just for being super great in general. You're the best! <3


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